Hey it's me, Nat

Hey haha yeah I know I’m never even home, my mom complains about it sometimes though.

How I do it is easy though, I use a website that i’ll link below and you can just use it while you are on tumblr or on the go or wherever really. What you do is you sign up, then make sure to confirm your email and you can start making money by answering questions! 

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The owner of this particular plantation had it built by slaves for 3 years. Every brick was handmade. Over 120,000 bricks on 2,000+ acres of land (this place was huge.) The clay used for the bricks came from the Mississippi River. The majority of the slaves are buried under the Levees and water. Some are buried with their Masters. Not allowed to live with them but could be dead with them.

Before you enter the house, there’s a list of slaves who lived here including their age and how much they were purchased for. 124 total. Some slaves were worth as little as $25. As young as 5 years old.

On this particular plantation, the owner was big on punishment…he used noise making neck restraints. Imagine three 4lb balls around your neck with bells inside. Children were restrained by ankle locks that connected between their ankles.

This was a sugar cane plantation, one the worst practices to involve slaves because of its danger. A lot of slaves were decapitated, amputees and killed from the fields and machinery. A lot of kids lost their lives creating sugar. Speaking of children, a child stood in the living room and operated the fan with a string while guests ate dinner. As young as 3 years old.

Here’s what shook me even further: Before the Civil War, a lot of slave owners were going in debt and could not afford their properties and were not producing enough cotton and sugar to maintain their lifestyles. Slaves were used as HUMAN CREDIT CARDS. Slaves were a guaranteed line of credit. You could get HALF of your property’s value depending on how many healthy and able slaves you owned.

My people were human credit cards and lines of credit to BANKS. We were property. We were labeled as equipment and nothing more.

There is no such thing as a good slave owner. They owned my PEOPLE and used them as checks and balances. This cycle continues with prison and brutality. I do not want to hear shit about “Why can only Black people say this or that?” I don’t want to hear shit about “we’re all human.”

SOME of the enslaved names, ages, race and purchase price.

The living room.

Interior.

The dining room. That piece hanging above the table is ORIGINAL to the house. That’s the fan that a slave as young as 3 years old had to operate manually with a string.

The view from the balcony in the main hallway. This is how they looked over the slaves while they worked in the yard.

*sigh* Names of the enslaved that occupied the shacks. Children included. Their names are written inside one of the shacks. I’m not sure if there are other names inside other shacks because I could only handle 2. After I saw the punishment equipment, I left.

Slave Shacks. These are NOT the original shacks. These were built to imitate them.

Slaves for Sale Ads.

The landscape of Slavery throughout the United States in 1860. JUST 1860. Let that sink in.

Note: The last time the home was OWNED by a Louisiana citizen was 1972. This is her original bedroom, her lipstick is STILL on the dresser. This is why the house has been updated since slavery times because it was occupied up until 1972. Regardless, this used to be where house slaves slept.

He got sooo pissed. Started yelling at me and calling me a bitch and then told me “You can’t hit me! I’m a customer!”

I’m pretty well developed for my age, and this happened when it was hot as fuck outside so I was wearing shorts and a tank top.

“I’m not a worker, asshole! And you shouldn’t slap their asses too just because they can’t hit you back!” I’m pretty sure I said something to the effect although I probably am explaining it as if I was smooth and calm back then, but I was an embarrassed, mortified mess

And then I asked one of the waitresses to call the police. The guy was backpedaling and trying to apologize.

Fun fact: I’m 15. Like I said, very well developed for my age.

So I told him no, we were both going to wait here for the police to show up so I could report him for sexually abusing and harassing a minor.

He panicked and was even trying to bargain with me, but like fuck I was letting him off the hook. Think of how many other girls this asshole has probably harassed! I just have the power to do something about it.

Police got there and I had about at least 50 witnesses to attest to the fact a stranger, who was probably like 40, slapped my ass, when I am, in fact, a minor. Not to mention he yelled things at me when he thought I was a worker like “You can’t touch me! I’ll beat your ass, cunt!” Which I referenced as him threatening me too.

The rest of his friends were mortified and had tried to leave but I insisted that they have to stay because the cops might want statements from them. Whether or not that’s true, I don’t fuckin know, but the manager seemed to agree enough to tell them to wait for the police.

I had tried not to, but as some point when talking to one of the waitresses while waiting for the police, I started crying because of how violated I felt. It may have done good for the police came in to see my crying, I don’t know, but the waitresses were all so sweet and tried to comfort me when they had the chance.

I don’t know if most of you know this but I am Jewish. A few years ago I joined a teen-led Jewish youth group called BBYO, and I love it so much you don't even know. I have made so many Jewish friends from around California it’s amazing.